


Under the Black Banners

by AgentJoanneMills



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/F, Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentJoanneMills/pseuds/AgentJoanneMills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is the daughter of the Chancellor, who declared pirates enemies of humankind.<br/>Lexa is the Commander of the Grounder Pirates, the strongest and largest pirate fleet the world has ever seen.</p><p>This is their story, according to the bards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Black Banners

**Author's Note:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

The first time Clarke and Lexa met, it wasn’t really part of the plan.

 

It became a tradition, of sorts.

 

****

 

Their second meeting starts like this:

 

Captain Clarke Griffin does not need her spyglass to see that the pirate ship is closing in, but she still looks through it, just to confirm her suspicion as to whom the ship reports.

She grits her teeth when she sees its banner.

Two crossed swords behind a blood red skull impaled with an arrow – the crest of the Grounder Pirates.

This particular ship’s figurehead is a man who appears to be tied to a post, body full of cuts and slices. It’s dreadful, really.

(But it’s also astounding, in a gory kind of way.)

Clarke knows this ship.

(Every sailor worth their salt knows this ship.)

 _The Executioner_.

(executioner ► _n_. One who administers capital punishment; one who carries out what is required; one who executes a lawful sentence; one who slaughters, kills, slays.)

It’s the Grounder Pirates’ lead ship.

And seeing their lead ship can only mean one thing.

(Well, actually it can mean a lot of things, but only one is pertinent – _only one_ and the rest will follow.)

Clarke will also be seeing the Grounder Pirates’ Commander.

**  
**

****

 

Their first meeting goes like this:

 

Clarke is sitting in a tavern near the port, after escaping the Chancellor’s Mansion (courtesy of Monty – he helped her get out through the windows, right above the trellis). She’s dressed in clothes borrowed from the servants’ quarters (courtesy of Jasper – the servants like him too much and let him get away with almost anything).

(Really, she owes her friends a lot. Raven made sure she’s not without a weapon – she gave her a small knife easily concealable in the sleeves of her coat. Bellamy provided her with the guards’ schedule, so that she’d know when to return to her chambers without being seen.

Her friends are the best anyone could ask for, but she’s not telling them that.

They already know it, anyways.)

 

One night.

She just needs one night of freedom from her mother’s suffocating grip, and then she’ll go back to being the perfect daughter. She’ll once again be the paragon of decorum – the Princess, the Golden Child, the Standard.

She’s just asking for this _one night_.

 

****

 

Clarke knows this tavern – TonDC – caters to everyone, and a large percentage of its clientele is made up of pirates.

(pirate ► _n_. One who robs at sea or plunders the land from sea.)

(pirates ► _n_. Enemies of all humankind, as proclaimed by the High Council Charter.)

 

The High Council holds suspicion that TonDC even acts as an avenue between the pirate loot and the legal market. However, since there is not enough evidence to warrant a search, TonDC remains operational.

 

But tonight, Clarke does not care about any of that.

 

Tonight, nothing matters.

 

****

 

She’s on her sixth – seventh? Eighth? Who the hell cares, anyway – tankard of beer when she hears the noise.

And yes, the tavern _is_ noisy (as most taverns are) but this is different.

The noise is coming from outside.

Through her foggy mind Clarke hears what sounds like…men howling?

She sits up straighter at that, spilling beer on her shirt in the process.  

She tries to listen more closely.

Yes, that’s definitely the sound of men howling.

And then…

There’s… chanting.

And rhythmic pounding.

“ _Jus drein jus daun_.” Dum. Dum. Dum.

“ _Jus drein jus daun_.” Dum. Dum. Dum.

“ _Jus drein jus daun_.” Dum. Dum. Dum.

“ _Jus drein jus daun_.” Dum. Dum. Dum.

And then the tavern door is overflowing with fierce-looking people, with war paint on their faces and weapons in their hands. They enter the establishment in a steady stream, still chanting at the top of their lungs and rattling their spears and swords.

It’s an awe-inspiring sight. If Clarke’s blood is not brimming with alcohol she would have appreciated it better.

“Lincoln!” the tavern’s proprietor Nyko shouts, waving over someone from the crowd.

“Nice to see you again, Nyko,” the man – Lincoln, who is as big as Nyko, with close-shaven hair and piercing eyes – says with a smile. He stands right beside Clarke in the counter, and she feels so small. This man can probably snap her in half if he wanted.

Come to think of it, all of the newcomers can probably snap her in half if they wanted.

Clarke gulps down her remaining beer and raises a hand for another.

Lincoln looks down at her.

She meets his gaze.

“You all right, miss?” he asks, and Clarke’s surprised that he sounds genuinely nice.

Lincoln’s eyebrows shoot up, and he looks amused. “Uh, thanks?”

That’s when Clarke realizes that she said that part out loud.

She smiles, sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine, you’re drunk.” He turns to Nyko. “I think you shouldn’t give her that,” he says, eyeing the full tankard Nyko is holding.

“I can handle it,” Clarke protests.

“No, you can’t.”

“Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean –”

“It’s not because you’re a girl. I know a lot of girls who could out-drink me,” Lincoln chuckles, not the least bit uncomfortable with the admission. “But you’re tiny, and you don’t seem used to drinking, so you would not be able to hold your liquor that much.”

“You’re too reasonable to be a pirate,” she grumbles – her brain-to-mouth filter is not working at the moment.

“What makes you think I’m a pirate?”

“I don’t know; I’m just assuming.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.”

 

****

 

It is entirely possible that Clarke passes out after that.

 

****

 

She remembers hearing voices.

“She needs a bed.” A woman. It’s a commanding voice, authoritative. Probably not used to being disobeyed.

(And yet it makes Clarke think of dark chocolate.)

“I can carry her upstairs.” A man. This one’s somewhat familiar, friendly.

“Do it.”

She’s being lifted up.

“Careful.”

 

****

 

Friendly Man: “All right, tiny person. Open your mouth a little.”

Some sort of thick and sweet liquid is being dribbled into her mouth.

Friendly Man: “That’s it, just a little more. Come on, work with me here.”

Authoritative Woman: “Swallow it.”

Friendly Man: “Listen to her.”

 _Okay_ , Clarke thinks. _I_ ’ _ll listen to the woman_.

She swallows.

 

****

 

When Clarke wakes up, she finds herself on a strange bed in a strange room.

The first thought that registers to her is: _My head feels light_.

The second thought is: _What the hell happened_?

The third thought is: _Fuck_.

The door to the balcony is open, and Clarke can see the full moon shining.

There’s still a lot of voices shouting and laughing downstairs.

Then fragments from earlier come crashing back to her mind.

Her breathing begins to quicken and she can feel panic closing in around her chest.

“Calm down,” a soft voice says, somewhere beside her.

Clarke startles so badly and a squeak escapes her throat. She turns to see who has spoken.

She doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed at the undignified sound, because when she sees her company the air is knocked right out of her lungs and she forgets everything else.

A girl about her age is seated on a chaise longue, watching her with the most intense eyes Clarke has ever seen. The moon bathes her in an ethereal light, and the play of shadows across her face is almost divine – the sharp angles of her jaw are emphasized and Clarke swears her cheekbones can cut flesh.

“Lincoln did not do anything untoward, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she tells Clarke, and her voice is quiet but rich.

(Clarke wants to hear more of it, the same way she craves another glass of cocoa after downing one.)

“That’s…” Clarke manages to begin, and she looks for words but all she finds is, “good.”

A ghost of a smile flickers on the girl’s lips. “He also made you drink something to counter the effects of the alcohol.”

Ah. “So that’s why my head does not feel like exploding.”

“Perhaps.”

Clarke’s eyes meet the girl’s, and she can’t quite decide what shade they are, exactly. All she knows is that they’re so bright – like they stole starlight, just so they can shine this brilliantly in Clarke’s life.

She’s lost in them, and she’s drowning but soaring at the same time.

 

****

 

“I’m Lexa, by the way,” the girl says, after who-knows-how-long.

Clarke clears her throat. She’s been staring, staring, staring. She should probably stop. “Clarke.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Clarke.” There’s something about the way Lexa says her name that makes Clarke’s heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings.

She smiles. “It would have been better if we met under different circumstances, but yes, nice to meet you, too.”

And then Clarke hears the chanting again. “ _Jus drein jus daun_. _Jus drein jus daun_. _Jus drein jus daun_.”

She stands up and heads to the balcony. “What’s happening?” She’s in the third storey. Her hands grip the railing, craning her torso as she tries to see what the commotion is all about.

“You’re going to fall down if you continue that,” Lexa says behind her, and suddenly there are hands on her hips, easing her back.

(Hot. Those hands are too hot. Clarke feels them branding her skin, leaving imprints.)

She’s now standing between the railing and Lexa, and Clarke’s body feels warm all over.

She swallows (gulps) and fights to keep herself steady. “What’s happening?” she asks again.

Lexa is breathing right by her ear, and Clarke can feel her every exhale. “They probably found the thief.”

“Thief?”

“I heard one of them yelling about someone who stole something,” Lexa explains, and Clarke wants to turn around and drink the words from her mouth. “Retribution would now be served, I think. The Grounders are strict in their codes.”

“The Grounders?” Clarke inhales sharply. The Grounders are pirates other pirates are wary of. This time Clarke does turn around, and then she’s face-to-face with Lexa. “Are they the ones who barged in the tavern earlier?”

Lexa laughs quietly (and the sound touches corners of Clarke’s soul she didn’t know existed), as if she finds what Clarke said silly. “They are.”

“Is Lincoln one of them?”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

Lexa fixes her with a gaze that can unravel all that Clarke is. “Will it make a difference?” she asks, softly, and there’s an openness there that Clarke wants to spend her life protecting.

(This night is the night when she doesn’t care about consequences.)

(This night is the night when nothing else really matters.)

Clarke raises a hand to cup Lexa’s jaw, and her heart pounds against her ribcage when Lexa leans into the touch. This close, she can see the universe in Lexa’s eyes, and she wants to explore it: map it, star by star, constellation by constellation. She’ll be Lexa’s navigator.

“No, it won’t,” she answers.

 

****

 

“Do you think that the Grounders’ Commander is with them right now?” Clarke has her head on Lexa’s chest. The midnight breeze is cool against her sweat-slick skin.

She feels Lexa shrug. “Who knows? Pirates don’t keep track of their captain when on land.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ has ever seen the Commander on land. They say it’s because of a sacrifice to the sea nymph – something about cutting out the heart and never walking on land again, in exchange of the sea’s favour.”

“People say a lot of things,” Lexa tells her. “They make up stories and believe them, just to prove that they do believe in _something_.”

“But do you think it’s true?” Clarke asks. “Do _you_ believe?”

“I only have a few beliefs in my life,” Lexa runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair, and Clarke sighs at the sensation. “Most of them do not involve sea nymphs and missing hearts.”

 

****

 

Clarke’s one night turns into two, and then three, and then four, and then she stops counting.

 

****

 

“What was your greatest dream, when you were a child?” Lexa asks her during one of those nights. They are in a secluded cove, their limbs intertwined on a blanket as they listen to the waves crashing against the shore.

“To be a painter.”

“Did you become one?”

“Yes.”

“What is your greatest dream, now?”

“To navigate the New World.” Clarke shifts, and then she’s looking straight into Lexa’s eyes. “With you.”

Lexa smiles her half-smile – Clarke’s favourite thing in the world. “I’d like that.”

 

****

 

The next morning, all Grounders have left the land.

 

****

 

Her mother the Chancellor issued an order for the Royal Navy to take in any Grounder pirates they’d find in TonDC.

The Grounders heard about it in the middle of the night – one of them managed to… _befriend_ someone from the Chancellor’s Mansion, who gave them the information as soon as it left the Chancellor’s mouth.

Whoever it was, they’d probably saved Lexa’s life. (And Lincoln’s, and Echo’s, and the others who Clarke got to know as good people.)

(And for that Clarke is in their debt forever.)

 

****

 

The thing is, since then, Clarke has not seen Lexa or any Grounder _at all_.

 

****

 

If people see _The Executioner_ , then they will also see the Commander.

If one sees _The Executioner_ , it follows that one will also see the Commander.

 _The Executioner_ is the Commander’s ship.

 

It’s simple logic.

 

****

 

Even simpler logic:

If one can’t outrun the Grounders, one must swallow one’s pride.

If one can’t outrun the Grounders, one must surrender.

If one can’t outrun the Grounders but still refuses to yield, one must prepare to die by the Commander’s hand.

 

****

 

“We can outrun her,” Bellamy, Clarke’s first mate, says beside her. His eyes are trained on the enemy ship. “We can also blow her up, if you say the word. Our cannons have further reach than theirs.”

“I know,” Clarke replies calmly, collapsing her spyglass before putting it back in her coat pocket.

“What do you propose we do, Captain?”

Clarke takes a deep breath. “Sound the horns.”

Bellamy studies her for a moment, and nods. He bellows, “Sound the horns!”

Their people bustle above deck.

The sound of horns fills the air.

 

****

 

“Why are we not readying the guns?” Octavia asks her brother Bellamy once their captain steps back inside.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “And why are you not at your post?”

“There is no post to man if there is no order to ready the guns,” she retorts, crossing her arms.

“The captain begs to differ. She’ll not be pleased if she hears you’re abandoning your place of duty.”

“As if you’d tell her,” Octavia snorts. “And I have no duty to perform if we’re not fighting at all. So what’s her plan? Talking to the outlaw Commander?”

“The Chancellor and the High Council would want the Commander alive for trial,” he says.

“That is not the real answer.”

“You don’t need me to tell you what the real answer is.” Bellamy starts to walk away.

“You think the Commander also knows where Lincoln and Echo are?” she yell-whispers at his retreating back.

Bellamy waves her off.

 

****

 

Raven hands Clarke her pistols. “I made some adjustments.”

Clarke tests how they feel in her hands. “I like the balance better,” she says.

“Well, of course, duh. _I_ made them.”

Clarke has no choice but to smile at that. “Yeah, all right, I get it. You’re brilliant.”

“Thank you, that compliment made my day.” Raven rolls her eyes. “So, you all set to kill the Commander?”

Clarke holsters her firearms. “First we’ll talk.”

“Right. You gonna interrogate her about that Lexa girl you’ve been pining after?”

“I do _not_ pine.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, princess. But please get in one nice shot for me, okay?”

She pats Raven’s shoulder. “If the talking doesn’t work out, well, we’ll see about the shooting part later.”

 

****

 

These are Clarke’s opinions about the Commander before meeting the person in question:

-          The Commander is an outlaw that must be handled with the utmost care.

-          The Commander is _possibly_ the most powerful person at sea.

-          The Commander _possibly_ knows where Clarke can find Lexa.

**  
**

****

 

“A bunch of cowards,” Indra mutters as the sound of horns reaches their ship. “They’re signaling for negotiation.” She turns to the Commander. “The royal wenches are not ones we can trust with parleying. Let us kill them all instead.”

The Commander’s expression does not change. (It rarely does.) “That’s _The Delinquent_ , correct?”

“Yes.”

“The same one ordained by the High Council to navigate the New World?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” the Commander drawls, “That ship’s captain is the Chancellor’s daughter, yes?”

“Yes,” Indra admits, reluctantly.

The Commander nods, satisfied, lips curling in a tiny smirk. “In that case, we shall grant them the negotiation they want. Far be it from me to deny the princess her wish.”

 

****

 

These are the Commander’s opinions about the princess before meeting the person in question:

-          The princess is a spoiled royal brat (like all the other noble-born in existence).

-          The princess has no business managing a ship, must less the High Council’s prized navigator ship.

-          The princess must be made to submit.

 

****

 

Gustus, the boatswain, runs below deck to fetch the Commander’s first mate.

“The Commander wants you by the starboard,” he tells Anya.

Anya quirks up an eyebrow, and by all means she looks unimpressed. “Are we talking to the royal bitches?”

“It appears so.” He seems pained by that fact.

She sighs. “Well then.”

 

****

 

Their second meeting goes like this:

 

 _The Executioner_ and _The Delinquent_ meet halfway, their respective leaders standing by the starboard with their first mates.

When the ships are at last running parallel to each other, with but several yards between them, the princess captain calls for a plank.

Bellamy grips her arm, whispering harshly, “Do you plan on _actually_ getting aboard the pirate ship?”

She frowns at him. “How do you think I’d be able to talk to their Commander?”

“I don’t know how, but I hoped it doesn’t involve getting into their territory.”

“The entire sea _is_ their territory, Bell,” Clarke tells him with a wry grin.

He considers that. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“I almost always am.”

 

****

 

The Commander’s heart skips several beats when she sees a young blonde woman walk along the plank and into their side. She seems _so_ painfully familiar but the Commander cannot – _will not_ – let herself hope unless completely certain about the woman’s identity.

Anya steps to block the woman’s path. “One wrong move and you’re dead,” she warns her, voice low and glare severe.

The woman nods, and she lifts her head in a manner befitting of a princess. She meets the Commander’s gaze, and blue eyes widen in surprise and disbelief.

 

****

 

They move to Lexa’s quarters, away from the prying eyes of both their crews.

Blue eyes are full of hope and joy and hurt, and Lexa does not know how to deal with any of those.

“You’re the Commander,” Clarke states, and her voice has the same smoky quality to it that has been plaguing Lexa’s dreams for _months_.

“I am.” There’s no point in denying it. “And you’re the princess.”

“I am,” Clarke acknowledges.

“It appears that we both had our secrets,” Lexa says.

The air between them is thick with tension and unresolved feelings. The silence speaks of betrayal and abandonment – pinpricks that poke holes into Lexa’s armor until nothing is left.

(It unsettles her. She’s the Commander – she cannot allow herself this weakness.)

“Why?” Clarke finally asks, and her anguish is palpable. There are a thousand questions in that single word. _Why did you lie to me_? _Why did you leave_? _Why are you here now_? _Why did you hurt me_? _Why_. _Why_. _Why_.

There’s only one answer poised at the tip of Lexa’s tongue. “I can’t afford to care that much.”

“You didn’t even look me in the eye when you left,” Clarke sighs. “It’s like you didn’t care at all.”

“You know that’s not true,” Lexa defends instinctively.

“Do I?” Clarke bites out. It’s a challenge, a demand, a plea. “I didn’t know you at all, Lexa. We’ve been together for barely a month. Who’s to say I’m not just one of your playthings, discarded once I’ve served my purpose – warming your bed at night and making sure you’re satisfied while you’re on land?”

“That’s not true,” Lexa repeats. “I do care, Clarke.”

“If you did – if you do – you would have come see me again to at least say goodbye. I deserved that much.”

“You don’t deserve that,” Lexa disagrees with an emphatic shake of her head. “You deserve a lot more than that.”

“You don’t get to say that to me!” Clarke snaps, and the blue of her eyes is as sharp as steel. “Not after abandoning me on a beach without a fucking word!”

“It was not safe!” Lexa yells back, getting agitated herself. “Your mother had the place crawling with her generals and soldiers by sunrise. You must have been aware of that.”

“You could have tried!”

“And I did!” Lexa explodes. “The Royal Navy’s under orders to spare no expense in capturing me and my people. They were waiting with _an entire armada_ at TonDC’s harbor. I saw them, Clarke, because I _did_ go back for you.” She drags in a deep breath, turning away because she can’t – she _can’t_ – look at Clarke anymore without touching her and that is not really the best for this situation. She puts some distance between them (and each step is more painful than the last). “I waited a week to give time for the heat on us to subside. I wanted to see you again.” She closes her eyes. “I wanted to see you again but I couldn’t.”

The words hang in the room, shattering around the edges and stifling them with _ifs_ and _maybes_.

“I told you I wanted to navigate the New World with you,” Clarke says.

“And I told you I’d like that,” Lexa’s losing the fight in her. “I went back because I wanted to take you with me. I wanted to sail away with you.” She sighs, and it is an exhausted sound. “I would have told you the truth. Who I am. What I do. I would have told you everything.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Lexa laughs a hollow laugh. “ _You_ didn’t tell me you’re the daughter of the woman who wants to execute us in the first place. When I saw what the Chancellor had prepared for my people, I couldn’t risk staying any longer. I needed to do what’s best for them. I needed to make a choice with my head and not my heart.”

She hears Clarke stepping closer behind her. “Well, I may be a hypocrite, but I’m not a coward.”

Lexa’s eyes flash with annoyance. She turns around to face her again. They are less than a foot apart, now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clarke tilts her chin up, defiant. “It means that if you’re waiting for a chance to finally make the choice with your heart, then now’s the time.”

Lexa eyes narrow when she makes sense of Clarke’s words. “Are you messing with me?”

“I don’t mess around, Lexa.” Clarke steps forward, and Lexa unconsciously steps backward.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is.”

“You are the Chancellor’s daughter!”

“And you are the Commander. Those are the facts. But those don’t make us any less or any more than who we were in that beach. Yes, I am my mother’s daughter, I have always been and I will always be, but I am not just that. I know how to sail. I am a navigator now, and I know how to fight.” Clarke swallows, but her gaze does not falter. “And if you ask me, right here, right now, what my greatest dream is, I only have one answer for you.”

Lexa can feel the beginnings of hope blossoming, but she tries to crush them down. Still her voice almost trembles, “What is your greatest dream, now?”

And Clarke does not miss a beat in answering, “Be with you.”

 

****

 

These are what people believe about Lexa:

-          She is the daughter of the late general of the Royal Navy.

-          She cut out her heart as an offering to the Sea God, in exchange of eternal youth and safe passage across his domain.

-          She is the Grounder Pirates’ Commander.

-          She knows ways to kill people without moving at all.

-          She loves Clarke in a way that encompasses the sea.

 

****

 

“They are unreliable sources,” Clarke says, tossing the parchment on her oaken desk and leaning back on her chair. The ship rises and falls beneath her feet.

“Believe what you will, princess,” Raven smirks. “You might not be able to handle what they say but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

“ _What they say_ are mere speculations,” Clarke insists, her blue eyes almost glowing in the lamplight. “She’s stronger than that. She’s the strongest person I know.”

“Yes, but even the strongest have their weakness.” Raven’s look softens. “You just happen to be hers.”

Clarke can’t decide whether to laugh or to cry. “You’re clearly spending too much time with Wick – that has got to be the sappiest thing you’ve ever said in the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Shut up,” Raven mock-glares at her. She snatches the parchment up from Clarke’s desk. “I’m doing you a favour here, you know.”

“By what? Compiling stories about Lexa? How is that a favour?”

“These are not mere stories,” Raven says. “Lexa is like, a legend. And so are you.”

“I don’t want to be a legend.”

“Too late.”

 

****

 

These are what people know about Clarke:

-          She is the only child of the Chancellor – basically, she’s a princess and a strong candidate in ruling the Twelve Kingdoms, sometime in the near future.

-          She is Captain of _The Delinquent_ , the High Council’s prized navigator ship turned rogue.

-          She was born to lead.

-          Where she goes, her people will follow.

-          She abandoned a life with the law to navigate the New World with Lexa.

 

****

 

“Hey, Commander,” Octavia greets her while sitting on Lincoln’s lap.

“Octavia,” Lexa nods.

“They say you have an empty chest cavity.”

“I do not.” Lexa sighs. “These stories are absurd.”

“So, you did _not_ offer your heart to a sea god or something?”

“I did not.”

“Good,” Clarke says, appearing beside her. “I don’t like sharing.” She kisses Lexa, and it’s a ridiculously sweet and possessive display.

Lexa smiles Clarke’s favourite smile. “My heart is yours and yours alone.”

 

****

 

These are truths about the Commander:

-          Her name is Lexa, and she has no family and no heart.

-          She has joined 12 warring pirate crews into one, and now commands the strongest and largest pirate fleet the world has ever seen.

-          The sea has always been her home.

-          Her heart was given to a navigator who keeps the seas calm for her.

-          She fell in love with the princess with the summer sky in her eyes.

 

****

 

The stories start like this:

Once upon a time, in a tavern by the sea, a princess waits and a pirate arrives.

**  
**

****

 

The stories go on and on and on.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is.
> 
> agentjoannemills.tumblr.com  
> (Yeah. Whatever. I'm not subtle.)


End file.
